


Halfway Happy

by EvieSmallwood



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, I’m a sucker for found families, Season 2 spoilers, and these two have such amazing chemistry, lol i had to add the jopper tag, these two lovebirds have no chill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-01-26 00:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12545068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieSmallwood/pseuds/EvieSmallwood
Summary: Snapshots from El and Hopper’s lives together. Some moments are tougher than others, but at the end of the day, they’re family.





	1. Worse Than This

I.

The first time she tries a cigarette is a rainy Saturday afternoon. She’s spent the whole day flipping aimlessly through the television channels, watching the same advertisements that have been showing for the last week, and reruns of Days Of Our Lives. She can’t stand it anymore; she feels so fucking _stuck_.

El feels something twist inside her even thinking that word. Hop told her, the first time she repeated it from his mouth, that she wasn’t allowed to say it. But saying it was different from thinking it, he’d added. It feels good. It releases some of the pressure in her belly.

She sucks her lower lip and glances around, paranoid even though she knows she really is alone. “Fuck,” she whispers. A grin breaks her face. She says it louder, and soon she’s screaming it at the top of her lungs: “FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, _FUCK_!”

A glass jar of soils slides off the desk in the corner of the cabin and shatters against the wall. El gasps, swallowing the iron taste of blood in her mouth. She’d been studying those; the different types of soils. Angrily she wipes her nose, approaching the damage. “Fuck...”

Trying to fix it is useless, she knows that; the dirt is all mixed. She scoops it into a small pile anyway and retrieves another jar from under the sink, hoping Hop won’t notice.

When it’s full, and her hands are coated in dirt, El leans back against the couch. She closes her eyes, listening to the sound of the rain patter against the wooden roof. There are faint tinks coming from the kitchen, where two pots lay on the floor, slowly filling with water.

She hates this. She hates being alone so much. It’s better than the lab, by far; there’s TV, eggos, warm clothes and board games... but she misses her friends so much it makes her heart hurt. Watching them, visiting them—it isn’t the same. It isn’t the same as being with them.

But sometimes it helps.

El slowly unwraps the black blindfold from around her wrist and ties it over her eyes, mentally flicking the TV to snow. She settles in front of it, concentrating on the dim soundless sound.

Suddenly she’s in the void. Black, as far as the eye can see. Her socks are soaked through with water, and she has to remind herself that it’s not real. None of this is.

But there they are, the four of them; sitting at the table in Mike’s basement, all talking over one another. Dustin is yelling, and Lucas is gesturing wildly with his hands. Will watches them all with a small smile while Mike tries to break over their argument. “Stop, stop!” He throws his hands out. “Everyone just calm down!”

“Lucas, I’m telling you,” Dustin’s voice is more calm now, “if you go into that goddamned cave you’re gonna eat it!”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Nice to know you have confidence in me.”

El settles on the cold, wet ground, crossing her legs. “Confidence,” she whispers. She feels like she might know it, but adds it to the list of words to research later.

Mike starts talking again, continuing on with their game. She watches the way his eyes light up, which she hasn’t seen a lot of lately, as he goes on. He looks taller than he did last week, somehow. He looks... pretty.

She feels tears sting her eyes and defiantly looks up, but her lack of concentration breaks the connection. The boys and their voices fade away in a puff of smoke, and she’s back in the cabin living room.

“Shit!”

El rips the blindfold off, covering her eyes with her hands. She won’t cry, because it’s stupid, and she isn’t stupid. _Crying won’t get you anywhere, kid._

She wipes the already drying blood from her nose and mouth and stands. She wants to scream, or break something else, but instead she stomps over to the kitchen counter.

There’s a pack of cigarettes standing out against the wooden surface. El grabs them, opening the top flap curiously. Hop smokes about a pack a day, but he won’t miss this one. She knows he’ll buy another if he has to.

El fingers one. She pulls it out slowly and sniffs it. It smells like Hop, but without the burning, smokey undertones. “Tobacco,” she whispers.

El walks over to the fireplace in the corner of the living room. It crackles and pops, casting shadows over the floor. She kneels down and hesitantly holds the white end of the cigarette over a flame. It begins to burn. Quickly she jerks it back and stares at the bright orange embers on the end.

She puts it to her mouth, holding it there. It’s a little like sucking on a lollipop. She breathes in, soon doubling over in a fit of coughs. _Jesus_.

She almost throws it into the fire. _How does he smoke these?_ A small part of her though, which is bigger than she’d like, remains fascinated. She brings it to her lips again, inhales, and once again starts coughing—but not quite as much.

The cigarette burns out before she can even get a third go. El flicks it into the flames, lungs on fire, but her mind feels a little more groggy. It’s difficult to concentrate on anything, much less how lonely she is.

She lays back on the rug, staring at the ceiling. It sucked, but it helped, she decides. The pain in her chest doesn’t even compare to that in her heart. She can’t imagine doing that as much as Hop does, though, and idly she wonders how those things haven’t killed him yet.

El rolls over onto her side. There are little clumps of dust under the couch, which blow away each time she lets loose a cough. “Dust bunnies,” she whispers, flattening one.

She closes her eyes, absently pulling at threads in the carpet. Outside, thunder rolls, but she can’t even find the energy to flinch. She’s not so scared of storms anymore, anyway. There are worse things.

Like this. This is worse.


	2. Compromise

II.

“Dog.”

Hop looks up from his paper, eyebrows raised. “What?”

It’s a dull January morning, the sort of Sunday they might spend reading or playing cards, but haven’t done anything worth while yet and she feels restless.

“Dog,” El repeats, putting her hands on the table so that they press down his paper. Hop sighs, leaning back. “I want one.”

“No, you don’t,” he says firmly, reaching for his coffee cup. El’s gaze snaps to it. She concentrates. It stays put, despite his attempt to raise it to his lips. “Oh, come on, El—”

“I want one,” she says again. “I’m alone all day. You said I hide another year. I can’t do that again on my own.”

Hop gives up on the coffee rubs his eyes. “But you’re not alone,” he insists. “You’ve got your friends, they visit—”

“It’s not the same,” she says. “I want someone...” someone to touch, to hug, to hold. Someone to tell things to that she can’t tell Mike, or even Hop. Frustrated, she relinquishes her hold on the coffee cup. It rattles lightly, but Hop doesn’t grab it.

“You don’t understand how much responsibility a dog is,” he says. “You have to feed it, and wash it, and walk it when it needs to shit—”

“Responsibility?”

He pauses. “Responsibility. R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y. It means... something you’re in charge of. Something that’s your duty. Like me, I’m responsible for you.”

El swallows. “I could do that,” she says.

Hop shakes his head with a laugh. “No, you could not.”

“Yes I could! What else do I have to do?”

“Your homework,” he retorts. “You wanna go to school with the boys next year, you gotta catch up.”

El groans, throwing her head on the table. It isn’t _fair_.

“El,” Hopper lightly tugs on one of her curls. She snaps her head up. “Listen... I get where you’re coming from, but it’s too dangerous. A dog hears anything and it barks—”

“Which would help keep me _safe_ —”

“No, it would do the opposite. Besides, you’d have to walk the damn thing, and I don’t want you getting lost in those woods.”

“What if it was an outside dog?”

“Outside dog?”

“Will’s dog, Chester, he’s an outside dog. They keep him on a leash, or in the yard—”

“And if it runs away?”

“I find it. I can find anything.”

“El—”

“Please, Hop,” she grabs his hands. “Please, please, please, _please_ —”

Hop rolls his eyes and stands. “No. And when I say no, I mean no. Go do your math homework, alright?

She presses her lips together. “I already did it.”

“Do more.”

“I finished the book. I need a new one.”

She knows he’d be happy if he wasn’t so angry. She allows herself to feel a little proud, because she’s one grade closer to catching up with Mike and the others.

Hop runs a hand over his face. “Alright, I’ll get you one. Year six, right?”

“Yes.”

El stands, lightly crumpling her soda can in her fist. She marches past him to her bedroom, slams the door, and downs the rest. Alone, she sags against the door, sliding downward. El rakes her fingers through her hair. Maybe it really was a stupid idea. Maybe dogs are too much... _responsibility_.

It’s snowing outside. She hates the cold, but she loves the snow. Cold reminds her of darkness, of the Upside Down, but snow... Snow is dancing with Mike in a tinsel-covered gym. It’s him smiling after their kiss, as the sounds of Cyndi Lauper flow from the huge speakers near the back of the room.

El chews her lip, leans forward, and grasps her supercom from its spot on the floor. She had been fiddling with it earlier, but no one had picked up.

It might be her favourite thing. A Christmas gift from Mike, Lucas, Dustin, and Will. They’d pooled their money and bought it for her. Of course, she has to widen the range of the radio to reach them, but that doesn’t take much effort. And it’s worth it.

El flips to channel 3, adjusting the frequency just slightly. “Mike?” Static. “Mike, are you there?”

“Hello?”

“Mike? It’s El.”

“Oh! No, sorry, this is Will, over.”

El deflates just slightly. She flicks the lock on her door and makes her way to her bed. “Hi, Will.”

There’s a small pause. “A-Are you okay, El?”

She absently wipes her nose. “Fine. Tired.”

“Oh. Me too. Last night, Dustin was over, and we stayed up til two in the morning watching movies.”

“That sounds nice,” she replies.

“Yeah, but Dustin snores when he sleeps. That didn’t help much.”

El laughs a little. She can picture the two of them almost clear as day. “Hop snores,” she says. “It’s super loud. He doesn’t believe me, though.”

She leans her head back against the wall, thinking. She can’t imagine sleeping without the sound of Hop’s snores, now. It would be too quiet.

Like it used to be, back in the lab. 

“What are you doing today, anyway?”

She wants to say something more fun than the truth, but it comes spilling out of her mouth anyway: “Nothing.”

Will must catch the bitter tone in her voice. “Did... I mean, I could come over? Would that be okay? It’s Sunday, so we don’t have school.”

El brightens, sitting up. She’s never really been alone with Will; he usually tags along with the other boys, but the only time she had ever really talked to just him had been in the Upside Down, over a year ago.

“I...” she pauses. “Yes. You could come.” After a beat, she adds, “Could you bring your dog?”

* * *

She waits by the window while Hop makes them grilled cheese. They’re not talking to each other. Her anger is still there, just suffocated a little by her excitement. She burrows herself under a pile of old frayed blankets, holding a book but not really reading it.

Hop sighs frequently, glancing over at her each time, hoping to catch her attention. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back, staring resolutely at her page.

At the sound of crunching leaves, however, both of their heads snap up. Hop turns the stove off and marches to the window, alert.

El rolls her eyes. “Relax,” she says. “It’s just Will.”

He’s getting off his bike, one hand occupied by Chester’s leash.

Hopper pales. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Will,” she says. “Will _Byers_.”

“El—” he sucks in a sharp breath, full to the brim with anger, and rubs his scalp. “You can’t just invite people over without telling me. That’s a _rule_ , remember?”

Will knocks on the door. El shoots up and darts toward it, throwing it open. “Will!” She’s smiling more than she has in weeks, which melts most of Hop’s anger away.

Until he notices the dog.

“Jane, god damn it!”

Will jumps in harmony with El. He turns to Hopper. “Um...Is everything okay?”

“I didn’t tell him,” El supplies, no longer bothered. She grabs Chester’s leash, grinning at the sight of his wagging tail. He paws at her jeans, yelping happily.

Hopper plops into one of the kitchen chairs heavily. “Next time, kid, I want you to clear this with me.”

“You said things would be different,” El reminds him, closing the door. “You said I could see my friends.”

“And you can—”

“But only when you want, right?”

“No, not right.” Hopper scowls. “Only when it’s safe.”

“It’s safe,” she says, forcefully. El grabs Will’s hand and leads him to her room. The door is closed quickly, but El can still hear Hop’s frustrated muttering through the wood.

“So you didn’t tell him I was coming?”

El shrugs. Chester hops up on the bed and walks in circles before curling up in a tight ball. “It’ll be okay,” she says confidently. “He’s not actually mad. Just worried.”

“Really? He seemed pretty mad to me.”

“He’s like that.” El scratches Chester behind the ears. “Did you bring the stuff?”

Will’s anxiety melts. He slips off his backpack and pours the contents over her patchwork quilt. Popcorn, VHS tapes, candy, his supercom, comic books, and crayons spill out.

“Is this good?”

“Amazing,” she marvels at all of it, and grabs a comic book, fingering through it. “X-Men?”

“Yeah! They’re these mutants—well, they’re not really mutants, they’re like you—they have cool powers and stuff. They go on adventures and fight bad guys. It’s pretty awesome.”

“What’s a mutant?”

“Mutant, it’s like... freak. A messed up person.” He bites his lip. “My brother says the best people are freaks.”

El feels herself smile. She runs a finger over the colourful drawings. “Who is she?”

“Her? She’s Amara. She can control fire and stuff.”

El hums. “She’s pretty.”

Will shrugs. “I guess. Comic book drawings never really look like people though. They’re like cartoons, you know?”

El sets the comic book aside. “Crayons?”

“Yeah! I brought my super pack—you have paper, right?”

“A lot,” she grabs the stack from her nightstand. They spend the next hour or so drawing. Will gives her tips and teaches her how to shade with darker tones. Her drawings aren’t nearly as good as his, but they’ve improved from stick figures.

Her’s is a dog, lying on the rug in their living room. He’s black and overgrown, but perfect.

Will’s, on the other hand, is a portrait of her. She looks over at it in awe, amazed at the detail. There’s even light shining through her curls. “Beautiful,” she breathes.

Will blushes. “It’s not my best,” he says. “You can have it if you want.”

El smiles, taking the paper. She rifles through her school things and retrieves the tape, before standing on her bed to stick it on the wall.

She turns to Will, who’s blushing. “Do you want to watch Ghostbusters?”

* * *

Hop is laying on his bed above the covers, making his way through a novel. He doesn’t even look over at them when they slip out of El’s room, but he does speak. “I ate your grilled cheese,” he says. “Since you just left it there, you know. I mean, if you’d asked, I might have saved it for you. That’s how people communicate. They _ask_.”

He’s closed his book now, and he’s eyeing her. El sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Hopper hums. He sets the book aside. “I know what you’re up to,” he tells her. “Don’t think I don’t know what this whole visit is about.”

El and Will exchange glances. Chester chooses that moment to whine from where he’s sitting on the couch.

“Hop, please—I’ll feed it and I’ll walk it around, and I promise I won’t go far. Please, please, please—”

“Let me think about it,” he interrupts, standing. “In the meantime, I’ll make you both something to eat, okay?”

“We have popcorn,” Will says. “I can make it—”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll do it. Go watch your movie.”

El gives him one last pleading look before Will drags her over to the couch. They curl up under blankets, Chester in a ball between them. El can barely pay attention to the movie. Her eyes follow Hop around the house.

“El,” Will grabs her hand. “Listen, it’ll be okay. Even if he says no, I’m sure he’ll let Chester stay here sometimes, right? He’s barely home anyway.”

El nods slowly. She keeps holding his hand, because it helps. The movie feels easier to enjoy after that. By the end, Will is fast asleep on the couch and El is leaning on his shoulder watching the credits roll.

Hop switches off the television. He sits in front of her, grabs her hands, and groans in defeat. “You can have a dog—”

She’s squealing before he can even finish, jostling Will. Hop talks over her. “You can have one, but I swear to god, you have to take care of it. You have to feed it, you have to clean up the shit when it goes in the house, you gotta walk it—”

“I will, I will—”

“ _And_ you have to help me build the thing a house.”

“Okay,” she launches herself into his arms. Hopper catches her, as always, and kisses her forehead gruffly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

“Blame Chester,” Hop says. “Little mutt grew on me.”

El looks over at Hop’s bed, which is indeed occupied by Will’s dog. She hadn’t even realised he’d left them. El slips out of Hopper’s arms and shakes Will awake.

“Will, guess what!”


	3. Stick With It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes they don’t have to talk.

III.

It’s been a month since the incident—that’s what they’ve been dubbing it, trying to avoid slipping into semantics. Three weeks, which are filled with nightmares and crying and more than a few broken dishes. There is no calm, but somehow they’ve settled.

He’s walking up the creaking wooden steps, cigarette dying in his fingers. She’s curled up on the front porch swing with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, eyes narrowed. “It’s six one.... it’s six-sixteen. You said—”

“I know, kid,” he stops, leaning against the rail. “I’m sorry. _Jesus_ , I keep messing up, huh?”

El softens, the hard edges of anger ebbing away. “It’s okay,” she says. “I just...”

“Wanna be anywhere else?” He can’t help finishing, grinning a little, though all he can feel is sorrow. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry it’s gotta be like this.”

“Does it have to be?” She shifts, suddenly alert.

Hopper coughs. The throws down his cigarette and scuffs it under his foot, watching the embers glow and die. The paper in his back pocket burns, and when he catches her eye, it somehow finds its way into his hands. “So,” he begins, “I talked to the doc today—”

“Owens?”

“Yeah,” he slowly unfolds the envelope flap, hands shaking. “He said... Well, he pretty much said what I’ve been saying.”

El deflates. “How long?”

“A year,” Hopper replies.

She winces, curling into herself. He knows she wants to cry, but he also knows she won’t do it in front of him.

“I’m not done yet, kid.”

He catches her eyes; they’re misty and reddened. It makes his heart sink, because for the last five weeks, every time he’s told her that they have to stay hidden she’s fought back. She’s yelled, she’s screamed... Now she’s crying, which he doesn’t like one bit.

“El,” he kneels in front of her, grabbing a freezing cold hand. “I told you things were gonna be different. I promised you.”

“I can’t do it,” she shakes her head, once again burying her face in her arms. “Not again.”

“You’re not gonna be alone. Your friends can visit, as often as it works out. And I asked Owens about that dance?” Her ears perk up. “He said it’d be okay.”

At that, she smiles. It’s better than the crying, he supposes, but a part of him remains apprehensive about this whole thing—he doesn’t like the idea of her in a crowd where he can’t see her, doesn’t like the idea that she might decide to just run again, or that she could get hurt.

Still, the tears have stopped. Hopper raises his eyebrows at her, and she nods. Sometimes they don’t need to speak.

He pulls the paper out of the envelope and hands it to her. Her lips are downturned as she unfolds it, eyes scanning the words. She mouths them to herself—mouths her own name, unfamiliar to either of their ears. “Jane Hopper...”

He hasn’t felt so nervous in a long time. Uneasy, he rubs his dampened palms on his trousers. “I know... things aren’t always good between us. I know we fight. But I also know that...” it takes him a minute, but she doesn’t interrupt, “I know that when it’s good, it’s real good. And I know that I’m never gonna let anything happen to you. I uh...” Sometimes they don’t have to speak, but this isn’t one of those times. She needs to hear it. “I love you.”

It comes out with a whiff of night air, floating skyward, dissipating. She squeezes his hand, but he’s too afraid to look up. “Hop... thank you.”

Encouraged, he manages to raise his head. It’s all the relief in the world when he realises that she’s smiling. He knuckles his nose. “You know what love means, right?”

“I guess.”

‘I guess’ isn’t good enough for him. “It’s like, uh... it’s like all of you—like your whole head and your heart just... needs this other person. Or thing, or whatever. And you care about them, and you want to protect them, and even the bad stuff about them is impossible to live without.”

“Love,” she echoes. Her eyes drift back to the paper, and she mouths their last name. “Does this make you... Papa?”

“Not if you don’t want me to be,” he replies. “And... either way, I’d like to stick with Hop.”

She grins. “I wanna stick with El.”

He can’t resist reaching up to ruffle her hair. “Okay, then, kiddo.”

Somehow they end up inside, standing in front of the fireplace, admiring the now framed birth certificate. The corner of the paper is crumpled just slightly, and there’s a tear stain or two, but it’s good enough for the both of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, kiddos! Hope you enjoy :)


	4. His Little Girl

IV.

Will is fine, which relieves him more than he ever thought possible. Hopper finds himself sinking down to the floor just outside the kid’s room, resting his arms on his knees. He listens to the sound of Joyce and Jonathan muttering, whispering words of comfort. He closes his eyes painfully, realising against his will that he almost _lost_ her. She almost _died in his arms._

“Hop?”

But there she is, still dressed like a damn MTV punk. The blood has been cleaned off her face, and she’s standing, which is good. Two hours of sleep isn’t much, but it’s more than he’s had.

He pats the floor beside him, and she sits, copying the placement of his arms with her own. He suppresses a smile. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” she says. He doesn’t know if it’s true or not; her eyes are still a little bloodshot, and she’s pale, but as long as she’s breathing he’s okay. “You?”

Hopper laughs. He doesn’t really know why. Maybe it’s the realisation that he’ll never be okay again; none of them will. They can’t return to normalcy, not now, because there will always be the lingering fear that it’ll happen again. Somehow, someday.

But he can’t tell her that. “I’m okay, kid,” he says.

She nods, and then suddenly she’s raising one of his arms and pulling it around her, snuggling into his side. It’s ridiculous, and he knows that the expression on his face is sappy and gross, but he doesn’t care. Everyone in this house is family, anyway—even the new girl he doesn’t know the name of, and the spitz kid Harrington.

Hopper sighs against her greased back hair. “You need a shower, kiddo.”

“You smell worse than me,” she retorts, punching his ribs lightly.

“Yeah, maybe,” he has just enough energy to keep up with their banter, but it’s fading quickly. He needs rest, or coffee, or both. Idly he fingers the bracelet on his right wrist.

“What’s gonna happen?”

Her voice is timid, which shocks him out of his revere because she’s rarely so fearful around him. He can hear the trepidation in her tone, and when he turns to her, he sees that her eyes are tearful. “What do you mean?”

“W-Where am I gonna go?”

He doesn’t quite understand what she’s saying. “El... What are you-?”

“The gate is closed,” she elaborates. “The bad men are gone.”

All at once it dawns on him. He swallows the lump in his throat. “You wanna leave?”

“No,” she says, firmly. “I thought... you wouldn’t want me to stay.”

“ _What_?”

She’s more worn out than he realised. Hopper stares at her in disbelief, and then grabs her hand. “Hey,” he says, because her gaze has strayed to the floor, so that he won’t see her tears. “You can stay with me as long as you want, alright? That cabin’s your home. You’re, uh,” he hesitates, inhaling sharply, because what if she doesn’t want this? “You’re my little girl, okay?”

The way she brightens eases all of his nerves. “Like Sara?”

A tear—one of his own—lands on their joint hands. He nods. “Yeah, like her.” _But you’re here, and I’m going to protect you. I swear. I promise._

El smiles, which is good enough for him. He isn’t sure when he became so attached to this ridiculous punk kid, but he knows he’s gonna care about her until he dies, and after that, too.

She curls into his side once more. Hopper rests his head atop her own. The house has gone silent, aside from some snoring in the living room. He figures most of the kids are asleep, and thanks god for it.

Joyce emerges from Will’s room. She’s smiling, and a little tearful, because she’s sentimental and he’s just starting to realise how fucking perfect she is, even if he won’t say it (maybe ever). Jesus, when had he turned into such a sap?

“Hey,” she says, to the both of them, he supposes. “How are you both?”

Hopper wipes some lingering wetness from his face. “Tired,” he says.

“Smelly,” El adds.

Joyce grins. “You can use my shower, sweetie,” she says. “I’m sure I can find some clothes for you.”

El smiles gratefully. “Thank you.”

Hopper looks between them, a little surprised at their ease, and that’s when he sees it; the soft glow of adoration in Joyce’s eyes, which he only really sees when she’s looking at her kids, and the equal amount of longing on El’s face (longing for a mother, for a family).

_Jesus Christ, I’m fucked._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little shorter, but I have a more elongated version of the episode 9 aftermath called Our Party if you want to read that.


	5. Start With That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little more Mileven heavy than others, but I had fun with it :)

V.

She’s pacing up and down the length of the cabin, fingers twitching, eyes flitting from the windows to the door.

_He’s not home yet. It’s midnight and he isn’t home._

He’s never been this late before—at least not without contact. She can’t help but consider the worst; that someone hurt him, that he’s gone, that he decided he didn’t want her anymore and left.

She shakes her head, because that’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t do that. As if to reaffirm her certainty, she glances at the birth certificate—framed above the fireplace. _Jane Hopper._

El shakes her head. She throws herself down on the couch, pulling a blanket over herself and grabbing her supercom off the floor, where it lays with a stack of books, comics, and gel pens. She fiddles with the dial and flicks to their secret channel.

“Mike?”

Static. El sighs. He won’t be awake, and she knows that, but she tries again anyway. “Mike, are you there?”

Miles away, he’s struggling with his blankets—which are tangled tightly around him and pinning his arms down. He blinks groggily, and her voice fills his room again.

“El?”

El grips her walkie tightly. She sits up. “Were you asleep?”

“Well, yeah—but it’s totally fine. Are you okay?”

All at once she realises she isn’t, that she’s worried sick. Her eyes fill with tears. She pulls her knees up to her chest. “No,” she says. “Hop isn’t home yet. He’s never this late.”

There’s a pause. El waits painstakingly, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

Her eyes widen. She hadn’t thought—it’s dark outside. It’s _dangerous_. She’s about to tell him not to come, but then contemplates spending the night all by herself in the cabin. El deflates. “Okay.”

She paces some more, utterly restless, glancing at the clock periodically and biting her nails. It’s a habit she picked up from Max, somehow—watching the other girl do it, liking the way it looked.

Before she knows it, someone is knocking on the front door. She wants it to be Hopper, wants to know he’s okay as he steps over the threshold with apologies and explanations.

It’s Mike, though. His face is flushed from the cold, his hair is a mess, and he looks like he might pass out. El pulls him inside by the hand. “You weren’t followed?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“That’s good,” El nods. One good thing.

She starts crying again—these tears leftover from the ones before but still heated, brought on by anxiety. Mike pulls her close. He’s so tall he can rest his chin on the top of her head. She remembers when they were both younger, when his voice was small and she didn’t talk much at all, and they were just learning how to trust each other.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m sure he’s fine. He can take care of himself.”

“So can I, but look at me,” she retorts.

Mike looks down at her, eyebrows raised. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You look fly.”

They both laugh. El wipes her eyes. “D-Did you want something? Water?”

Mike frowns. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I just... I just wanna wait. He’ll be home soon, I know it.”

They do wait, sitting on the couch, leaning on each other. El watches the flames in the fireplace, feeling warm but not at ease. Mike holds her hand, but it goes limp after about an hour or so. When she looks over, she sees that he’s asleep. The dim light shadows his eyelashes, and they seem to dance across his face in long, dark lines.

El slumps against his shoulder and sighs. She drifts off to the crackling of the fire and Mike’s steady breaths.

* * *

He jerks awake to pounding at the door. Mike blinks, dazed. There’s more knocking. He gently removes his arm, which El has been leaning against all night, and rushes over to the door.

Hopper is standing on the porch, looking a little ragged, and none too pleased to see Mike. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re late,” Mike retorts with finality.

Hopper scowls. “Yeah, I know—”

“Do you have any idea how worried she was?” He’s angry, more than he realised last night; El doesn’t deserve bullshit like this. “She was crying. She didn’t fall asleep until like one in the morning.”

Hopper lets out a long sigh. He takes off his hat and gestures. “Can you please let me in, kid?”

Mike frowns. His eyes find El’s still sleeping form, and then he steps aside.

Hopper sighs when he sees her—curled up on the couch and wrapped in a blanket, hair fanning out against the cushions. “Jesus...”

Mike closes the door. “So where were you, anyway?”

The chief sits down at the table. “I was someplace,” he says.

“Okay,” Mike moves to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and some milk. “Your shirt is buttoned wrong by the way.”

Hopper’s cheeks redden. He glances down at the buttons and fumbles with them. “You little punk...”

“Oh, _I’m_ the punk?” Mike slaps the milk jug down on the counter. “You think it’s okay to just leave her here all night so you can sleep with the librarian? Yeah, that’s classy.”

For his part, Hopper looks a little shocked. Mike works at cracking the eggs—which he isn’t very good at, but once the shells are picked out, they seem okay.

Hopper runs a hand over the top of his head. “You’re right,” he says, after a minute. “I screwed up.” Mike nods. “ _But_ , that doesn’t excuse you sneaking out and coming here—“

“So I was just supposed to leave her here alone?”

“She would have been _fine_ —”

“You don’t know that!”

They’re both yelling, and little specks of yolk fly onto the counter top—but they both quiet when they realise that El is standing and wiping her eyes. “I’m gonna brush my teeth,” she says, and then glares at Hopper. “Nice that you’re not dead.”

The bathroom door slams behind her. Hopper winces.

“It wasn’t the librarian,” he says after a minute.

Mike frowns over his bowl, before it dawns on him. He grins. “Was it Joyce?!”

“What—?”

“It _was_! Oh my god! It’s okay, you know, El won’t be mad—”

“Kid, lower your voice—”

“She rants about how you two should get together like three times a day.”

Hopper’s mouth drops open. He glares at the bathroom door and then back at Mike. “What the hell am I gonna do?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “There’s this thing called dating,” he says. “Maybe start with that.”

* * *

They’re silent as they eat the eggs. They’re not bad, Hopper begrudgingly thinks. El has wolfed hers down in less than a minute and then she’s storming off to her room.

The Wheeler kid says goodbye to her in private, and Hopper doesn’t say anything about it, because he’s the one who fucked up this time.

Then they’re alone—the two of them. Hopper pushes his food around on his plate, but he doesn’t get a chance to finish.

She jerks open her door and starts yelling; about how she thought he’d gotten hurt, about how she couldn’t sleep, and about how he’s a “total and complete mouthbreather”, and Hop takes it all. He doesn’t yell back, he doesn’t tell her to shut up, and he doesn’t want to do any of those things anyway.

“What do you have to say for yourself?!”

He sighs. “Listen, kid, I’m sorry—you _know_ I’m sorry. I would never have done that, but I was distracted, and we lost track of time—”

“‘We’?!”

He bites his lip. “Yeah. Joyce and I.”

El takes a slow step forward, eyes narrowed. “You were with Joyce?”

“Yeah.”

“The _whole night?_ ”

Hop closes his eyes briefly. “Yes.

She sits across from him. “You had sex, didn’t you?”

His eyes widen. “ _Jesus_ , kid! Who taught you—”

“Joyce did!” She’s suddenly grinning. “You’re gonna marry her, aren’t you?”

“Woah, woah, slow down—”

“Do you love her?”

“What?”

El leans forward. She punctuates each word. “ _Do you love her?_ ”

He thinks of her smile, and her eyes, and the way she just is who she is. She’s always been perfect to him, ever since that first cigarette under the stairs. “Maybe a little,” he says reluctantly.

El slaps her hand on the table. “I knew it!”

She goes on, happily planning out their lives, giddily proclaiming that Will is gonna be her new brother. Hop watches her speak with wide eyes, because it’s all so much, and she’s never talked so rapidly before, and by the end of her little speech he can’t help but grin. “You’ve got some wild imagination, kiddo.”

But maybe some things are worth imagining.

 


	6. Perfect

VI.

 

“You ready for this, kiddo?”

They’re standing outside the Byers’ front door. It’s cold—almost as cold as it had been the day he’d found her—but they’re bundled in coats and scarves. El nods, setting her jaw, and he raises his fist.

The knock is simple. El doesn’t think it means anything in morose code. In less than a minute the door is being swung open.

Joyce stands before them in her living room. She looks pretty, in a white sweater and blue jeans. She smiles at them both. “Hey! You’re right on time!”

“Five-three-zero,” El says.

“Five thirty,” Hopper corrects.

She rolls her eyes. He’d written it down on a sticky note and tacked it to the fridge. She’d looked at it every morning for two weeks.

_Thanksgiving. 5:30. Byers._

Joyce steps aside to let them in. The place looks much better than it did before; no more drawings, or broken windows, or demodogs. Just a table of food, lit candles, and a TV humming in the background.

Jonathan is laying silverware out. He looks up and smiles at El, who smiles back. She doesn’t really know him much, but if he’s Will’s brother and Joyce’s son then he must be good.

El takes off her outer layers and puts them in Hop’s expectant hands. He hangs them up.

“So, I made turkey—well, I bought a smoked one—and we have rolls, and sweet potatoes, and stuffing...”

El looks at all of the food. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen so much in her life. It looks so good, and smells amazing.

“Thank you,” she says.

Joyce shrugs. “I mean, it’s better than usual, but I didn’t do much.”

Hopper shakes his head. He looks... fond. “You did fantastic,” he corrects, which makes Joyce’s cheeks go pink.

“Can you go get Will for me, sweetie?”

El nods. She slips away from the others and walks down the hall. His door is closed. Light steams through the crack near the door. El knocks.

“Come in.”

He’s on his floor, legs crossed and leaning against his bed. There’s an older TV nearby. He’s playing... video games. Atari, El recalls, remembering the commercials.

He looks up at her and grins, and she sees Will; not the sunken, shadowed, cold boy in the dark place or the weak one from last month—but someone who smiles so much and gives everything. He reminds her almost immediately of the feeling she got when she’d ridden through Hawkins on the back of Mike’s bike the first time. He reminds her of warm blue skies and newness and comfort.

“Hi, El.”

She smiles. “Hi, Will.”

“Do you wanna play?”

“I do, but Joyce says dinner is ready,” she bites her lip. “It looks really good.”

Will shrugs, setting down his controller and standing. “Jonathan made the potatoes this year.”

El isn’t sure what he means by that. She nods. “Cool.”

He grins. “You don’t look how I imagined you would.”

She looks down at herself; at the used plaid skirt Hop found in a thrift shop, the pantyhose with runs, and her beat up sneakers. She thinks she looks nice. Hop said so. “Bad?”

“No, I just mean... I figured you’d be like a real mage for some reason, which is so stupid. Like, you’d wear a cape, or have a staff. I mean... I don’t know. It’s dumb.”

“Imagination,” El says. “I thought you would be taller.”

Will laughs. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go eat.”

Dinner is louder and more fun than any meal she’s ever eaten. Hopper and Joyce talk to just one another almost the whole time about old memories. Will calls it reminiscing. El likes the word.

Jonathan jokes with them, and shows El his camera. He tells her about the lenses and the film, and how to take a picture. She takes one of him and Will together and hopes it comes out good.

“We’ll have to wait to see until the film gets developed,” Jonathan tells her. “I can do that at school on Monday.”

Will moans. “I don’t wanna go back.”

“Yeah, well, you gotta,” Jonathan ruffles his hair. “It’s important to fill up that noggin.”

El’s brow furrows. “School is... bad?”

“No, it’s not bad, it’s just... Well, it’s bad and it’s good.” Will takes a bite from his roll. “People are mean, but the classes are interesting.”

“Not everyone is mean,” Jonathan adds quickly, catching her worried expression. “Don’t worry, El.”

Will puts the rest of his roll on her plate and focuses on devouring his potatoes. El eats slower, knowing she won’t have another meal like this until next month at least— _Christmas_. She’s looking forward to that more than anything.

After they’re finished, Will takes her to his room and shows her how to play on his Atari. The game is simple enough, and after a while they both get bored.

“Will,” El sets her controller down. “What does a mage look like?”

Will tears his eyes from the game. “Um... hold on a second.”

He gets up and starts scurrying around his bedroom, before he finds a folder. El watches him rifle through it. He pulls out a page and shows it to her.

“I drew this last week,” he says. “It’s the whole party—you, me, Mike, Dustin—all of us. That’s you, there.”

She stares at the small figure, shadowed by a purple and black cloak. There’s an icy blue ball floating just above her palm and a trickle of blood running down her nose. Her hair is wild and curly, like now.

“Bitchin,” she whispers, awed at his talent. She could never draw like this.

Will blushes. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Totally bitchin’.”

The door opens. They both jump. Hopper looks between them and taps his watch. “It’s eight-forty, kiddo. We gotta go.”

She feels her heart sink just a little, wanting nothing more than to stay in this house forever, and be like Will and Jonathan’s sister and Joyce’s daughter. She decides right then and there that she’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

Will hugs her. It’s unexpected and a little bony but warm. She rests her forehead on his shoulder and memorises the feel of him. _Brother_.

“You can keep the drawing,” he says, when he pulls away. “I have plenty like that anyway.”

El hugs the paper to her chest carefully and smiles. “Thank you, Will.”

He shrugs, still grinning. El lets Hopper gently usher her out (not before he ruffles Will’s hair and tells him goodnight), through the hall and onto the porch. Jonathan’s car is gone and Joyce is leaning against the railing with a cigarette.

She hugs El gently. “Goodnight, sweetie,” she says, pressing a small kiss to El’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon, okay? I promise.”

“Promise,” El echoes.

They walk down the porch steps together, her and Hop. Something cold and wet lands on El’s nose. She stops and looks skyward.

“Snow,” she breathes.

Hop grins. “First one’s always the worst.”

“No,” she shakes her head, feeling light and happy. “It’s perfect.”

He punches her jaw playfully. “Happy Thanksgiving, kid.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Hop.”

 


	7. O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

VII.

“We need a tree.”

He stops in the middle of whisking eggs, swallowing roughly. El waits with her arms folded over her chest. She’s fully prepared with a list of arguments as to why they should get one.

But after a silent moment of consideration (she wonders what’s going on in his head), he glances at her. “Whatever you say, kid.”

 _What?_ She can’t believe it. She’d expected arguments, like always. Reasons why it was dangerous or stupid. “Really?”

He nods. “Yeah, why not. I mean, you’ve never had a Christmas before. Gotta start somewhere, right?”

El grins so hard it hurts her cheeks. She jumps onto the counter, and he doesn’t protest, because he’s used to her perching there while he cooks. “So we can go to a farm and pick one out?”

That stops him short. “A farm?”

“A Christmas tree farm,” she elaborates, already feeling that nagging tug in her stomach.

“El...” he chews his lip. “We can’t do that.”

“But you said—”

“We’ll get a tree,” Hopper assures her, “but I can’t just take you along. It’s...”

“Dangerous?” She finishes, eyebrows raised. She feels her cheeks heating up. “That’s a lie. No bad men came after me when I left before.”

“No, it’s not about the danger,” he runs a hand over his face. “I mean, it _is_ , but it’s more to do with the fact that there’s not one person in this town who doesn’t know who I am, and if they see you with me, they’ll have questions.”

El huffs. “Where do we get the tree, then?”

He jerks his head toward the window, through which plenty of trees are visible. But that only makes her frown, because those trees don’t look anything like the ones in the movies. “They’re too tall,” she argues. “Not right.”

“We’ll find one,” Hopper says, now going about his business. “There’s plenty of different kinds out there.”

“Evergreen conifer,” she says. “Seed-bearing tree of the Plantae kingdom and Pinopsida class. Retains its green colour throughout the year unlike deciduous plants.”

Hopper’s lip quirks upward in the corner, which means he’s trying not to smile. She doesn’t get what’s funny. “You got this all planned out, huh?”

She shrugs.

“Alright, we’ll look for an evergreen, then,” he nods.

“Today?!”

It’s a Sunday, which means he’s off work. Hopper pours the eggs into the pan and sighs. “Yeah, today. We’ll eat and then go, okay?”

She throws her arms around his neck and ends up nearly falling off the counter. Hopper catches her with a steadiness. He grunts as his back pops. “I’m too old for this.”

“Old man,” she says, grinning.

* * *

They manage to find the perfect tree about fifteen minutes from the cabin. There’s a long stretch of pine trees—they must be slashes and shortleafs, from what El’s read in the botany books Dustin brought her. They’re all barren of leaves, which litter the ground along with a thin layer of white snow.

The mulch and ice crunches under their boots. Their breath is foggy. El loves sighing long and hard and watching the cloud of air drift upward and disappear. Hop even does it with her, once.

While they walk, she contemplates ( _contemplate; c-o-n-t-e-m-p-l-a-t-e: to think profoundly and at length_ —one of the first few words Hop had taught her) the other night, when he’d come home with her birth certificate and they’d talked about names and made promises.

She’s his daughter. On TV, daughters call their papas ‘dad’ and get excited when they come home. El had been that way, at first, but now his return is just a nightly expectation. She loves his company, but she’d never jump up and down and climb on his back like the girls on television.

She isn’t sure if she should call him dad. He’d said to stick with Hop, like she’ll stick with El. Those are their names. They’re _affectionate_.

But last night they’d watched one too many movies and he’d fallen asleep on the couch. His arm had been stretched over the back and his chin had been pressed against his chest. The glow of the fire had caused his face to grow orange—almost like the flames were really touching it—and she’d thought: _Dad_.

It had felt right. He acted like a dad most of the time, anyway. All tall and stern one second and then leaning down to kiss her forehead or ruffle her hair the next. He’s dad, somehow. Maybe he always has been, since Sara, and the dad-ness never went away. Maybe he just hid it behind his anger and his beer cans.

And so she’d decided that he’d be dad in her head, but not aloud. She would only think it, and only sometimes (only when he really was being _dad_ ). Then it wouldn’t be a problem.

“There it is.”

She nearly bumps into him. Hop holds out a hand to steady her, and they look at it.

The tree is shorter than most of the ones she’s seen on TV, but it’s not tiny. There’s a thin dusting of snow on its green branches. It stands almost alone in a small clearing.

“Saw?”

He nods and takes the offered tool. They trudge up to it and kneel. She feels her heart pounding with excitement. _Christmas tree. Christmas tree._

Hopper works at cutting it down, grunting every so often and sweating some, too. She holds the tree steady with her mind.

It creaks and then falls in front of them. Hop wipes his forehead. “You did good,” she tells him.

Hopper smiles at her. _Dad_. He stands and hauls the tree, huffing a little. El lightens the load with her powers, but with the cold and her excitement she can’t quite concentrate on levitating it.

They make it back to the cabin. Hopper shakes out the tree, making all of the snow fall off.

Once inside, they set the tree up in the corner near her bedroom. It looks nice. She suddenly wishes that Christmas could be every day.

“Thank you, Hop,” she says.

Hopper pulls her under his arm and leans down, kissing her head. “Not done yet, kiddo. It needs decorations.”

* * *

There’s a coil of lights under the house, which they find after some digging. They’re not multicoloured, but they look perfect once wound around the tree and plugged in. “Pretty,” El breathes, staring at it in awe.

“Come here, kiddo.”

El glances at Hopper. He’s by the hole that leads to the storage area. There’s a couple of boxes next to him and a small one on the leg that isn’t pulled to his chest.

“Ornaments?”

“Yeah. My grandmother’s, I think,” he pulls out a long, clear one—it looks like an icicle, but not nearly as dangerous. “I didn’t even know these were here.”

There are what seems to be nine more of those, wrapped in paper towels and lined in the box. El takes one. It feels delicate, like it might shatter just at her touch. “Really pretty,” she says, and then takes it over to the tree. She hooks it around a branch and lets it dangle.

Hopper helps her put the rest up. They sort through the other boxes, which hold sets of little ceramic santas and elves—some of which are missing.

“Who is Santa?”

Hopper hesitates. “Well, um... he’s this man—well, actually, he’s an elf, too. And he goes around the world on Christmas with presents, and gives them to all the good kids.”

El frowns. “The bad kids don’t get any?”

“They get coal,” Hopper replies. “So you better watch out, huh?”

El scrunches up her nose. She doesn’t think she’s _that_ bad. “How does he give presents to everyone?”

There are so many people. She’d read in her science book that the world’s population was four billion. She can’t imagine how much of that number is made up by kids. And in _one day?_

“He has this sled,” Hopper explains. “And special reindeer. They’re like magic.”

“Magic... like me?”

“They can’t do the same things,” Hopper says, “but yeah, sort of.”

El chews on that. “It’s not possible,” she decides after a minute. “A lie.”

“I-El. Just... go with it, okay?”

“But you can’t do that,” she protests. “The world’s too big.”

Hopper sighs. “Yeah, okay, you got me,” he holds up his hands.

“Why would you lie?”

She squints at him, suspicious and just a little hurt, before he explains. “Most parents tell their kid’s Santa’s real because they think it makes it more special. Adds wonder, or something.”

El eyes the tree, and the snow outside the darkened window. “I think Christmas is special enough,” she decides.

Hop nods, smiling just a little. He places the last ornament on the tree. “Yeah, I figured.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! It’s been a bit! I’m so sorry about that! This chapter was a lot of fun to write, mostly because these two are so freaking adorable. 
> 
> I just want to thank you all; the response to this fic has been overwhelmingly sweet and supportive, and I’m so grateful! Love you guys!


	8. Dad, Sometimes

VIII. 

 

“El.”

She turns, looking ridiculously happy in her ruffled blue dress. He can’t help but smile, because it’s been so long since she’s been this overjoyed... _Scratch that_ , he thinks, _it’s the first time ever._

“I got something for you,” he tells her, watching her eyes alight with curiosity.

She walks away from the mirror and over to him, where he’s resting on the arm of the couch. “A gift?”

Hopper nods. “Yeah, sorta,” he agrees, “but not like those...”

He glances at the small pile of presents under their tree. None of them are very neatly wrapped, and most of the paper is Star Wars print, but at least she’ll have something to open Christmas morning.

This is different, though.

He swallows as he works the blue bracelet off of his wrist and holds it out for her to take.

She does so gingerly, eyeing him with the caution that never seems to go away. “To borrow?”

“No, it’s yours to keep.” He doesn’t think she knows what it means; that he’s giving her this last piece of Sara that he has. “It belonged to my daughter.”

El looks up from the woven band, brow furrowing. “Why... give it to me?”

“Because I-“ he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I care about you, kiddo. And I think—I think she’d want you to have it.”

His kid nods, proceeding to slip the bracelet onto her wrist. Hopper helps her adjust it so it won’t slip off.

And then she beams at him.

Hop hasn’t been this happy in a long time. He feels like he’s halfway to something pretty damn good, though the specifics of that feeling are still a little vague.

“Thank you...” she seems to choke a little. “D-Dad.”

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Hopper feels himself reach out, grabbing her hand in his own. _Dad_. God, when was the last time he’d heard that? Six years ago (or last night, in his dreams)?

“El...”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts. “You aren’t...”

“No,” he squeezes her hand. “It’s okay.”

He tries to make his voice as gentle as possible, but she still looks a little uncertain. “Promise?”

“I promise, kiddo,” he attempts another smile. _Dad_. “Do you, uh... Do you wanna call me that?”

_Stick with Hop_ , he’d said, about two weeks ago. He’s still not sure if he’d mind either way.

“Sometimes,” she admits hesitantly. Her cheeks grow red. “I don’t know.”

“Dad it is,” he says. “Sometimes.”

* * *

Joyce dumps the contents of her purse onto Hopper’s passenger seat. Makeup spills out; lipstick and blush rolling every which way. She sorts through them and procures a brush and some white-looking powder.

Hopper watches in wonder, cigarette dangling from his fingers, as she dusts this onto El’s face. It only seems to make her more pale.

“Mom, it’s starting!”

Will is bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking anxious.

Joyce waves him off. She’s focused on the task at hand, like always. Hopper tries to ignore the nagging thoughts in the back of his mind (like how much he loves that about her, and how she looks fucking _amazing_ tonight). He decides to just light his cigarette and keep his mouth shut.

“Just go on, honey,” she tells him. “El’ll be right there.”

Will bites his lip. He looks to El. “Are you okay with that?”

She nods. “But—”

“Don’t tell Mike,” Will grins. “Yeah, I know.”

Then he’s running off, tie flying over his shoulder. Hopper glances down at his own. It’s an old thing—just a stupid clip on. It stays until the kid goes inside. He hasn’t decided whether he’ll burn it or bury it when he gets back to the cabin.

Joyce applies steaks of pink to El’s cheeks. “This is blush,” she explains to El. “It’ll make you look a little flushed, which sort of... counteracts the powder, you know?”

El nods. “Counteract,” she iterates. “C-O-U-N-T-E-R-A-C-T; word seventy-three. To act against something in order to neutralise it’s effect.”

Hopper ignores his pride. He tries to hide his grin behind his hand, eyes on Joyce. She seems both pleased and amused. “Yeah,” she grins. “Good job, hon.”

(God does he love that fucking grin)

“Okay,” Joyce pulls back, “all done, I think—here—” she hands El the lipgloss she’d applied before. “So you can touch it up, after you eat, or drink, or—”

Hopper clears his throat. “Sorry,” he sniffs. “Smoke, I guess.”

Joyce gives him a pointed look, but El seems to remain oblivious, thankfully. “Alright, go inside.”

El looks between the both of them, anxiety contorting her mouth into a frown. Then she throws her arms around Joyce’s middle and mumbles something into her shoulder.

Hopper looks skyward, to give them a moment. The stars are brighter tonight than they have been in a while (or maybe his eyes are clearer).

El rushes off, footsteps echoing on the blacktop. Hopper watches Joyce collect all of her things. He doesn’t know what to say, but he’s grateful. He’s more than grateful.

(he’s slowly and steadily falling for her and repeatedly reminding himself that she just lost someone)

“I should put these back in my car,” she tells him.

Hopper meets her eyes. They’re brown. He remembers the first time he saw them, back on the playground in fourth grade. She’d been playing with Chrissy Carpenter—or watching, really, while the other girl practically flew across the money bars. He remembers how her hair had been, then; darker, and curling all around her pale face. He’d been certain that he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

He’s pretty sure he was wrong. She’s looking like god’s gift to humanity tonight.

Hopper nods, and then she’s walking away from him—across the lot, toward her car. He leans against his truck and finishes his cigarette, watching the embers slowly die away.

He stands and pulls off the tie with a small smile, throwing it on the dashboard.

_Dad._

_Sometimes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE JOPPER SNUCK ITS WAY IN AND HONESTLY? I HAVE ZERO REGRETS.
> 
> They should just get married already...
> 
> ;)


	9. Charming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally gonna post this as a stand-alone oneshot, but I re-read the beginning and decided it belongs here. It IS primarily mileven, but it’s always nice to shake things up :)

IX.

The locks slide into place, but for the first time in a while, they sound doesn’t make her feel sad; it’s more like coming home, shutting the door to bad things.

El slips off her coat as Hop does the same and walks over to the record player. She flips through the sleeves and pulls out one of the only Christmas-related ones.

Hop rolls his eyes. “Again?”

“I like it,” she replies firmly.

Music fills the room—Judy Garland, the sleeve reads. She looks pretty, with her red lipstick and perfectly curled hair. There’s a soft glow about her face. El wonders how she achieves that. _Pretty_.

Hop sits down on the couch, grunts, and pulls one of her books out from under the throw cushion. “ _The Velvet Promise_ by Jude Deveraux,” he reads. “Where the hell’d you get this one?”

El’s cheeks flush. “Nancy left it,” she admits.

They had been studying last weekend, and the older girl had dumped out her bookbag on the couch, looking for a pen. The book had slipped between the couch cushions. El hasn’t told her, yet, but she doesn’t think Nancy will mind much. It’s just _one_ book.

Hopper hands it to her, eyebrows raised, which only makes her blush more. “Shut up,” she says.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies, but they both know he finds the whole thing amusing.

El hugs the book to her chest defensively, scowls at him, and marches into her room. She doesn’t slam the door, given that she isn’t really that mad. She can still hear the music through the crack by the floor, too.

She sets the book on her dresser and flops down on her bed, feeling full and tired. The food at Joyce’s had been as good as Thanksgiving dinner—maybe better, because of the decorations and music. She’d never felt so at peace in her life.

Now is almost as nice, with Hop’s snores echoing through the cabin, and the wind blowing gently outside.

El nearly falls asleep, before someone raps on her window. She jumps, eyes squinting a little in the dim light.

It’s Mike.

She hurries over and unlatches it, feeling her heart pound against her chest. He’s wearing what seems like four layers and a hat, cheeks flushed red from the cold, covered in a thin powder of snow.

“Hey,” he says. The word is followed by a whiff of white air, almost like smoke, but lighter. She loves the look of it, always has.

El feels like she’s melting. “Hey,” she replies.

“Can you help me in?”

She knows she can’t lift him—they both know that—but she holds out a hand anyway; too tired to use her powers. A part of her doesn’t want to use them, either; there’s something about Christmas Eve that’s magical enough.

Mike braces his feet against the outside wall of the cabin and struggles into her room, huffing a little. Once inside he pulls off his hat and coat. They stand there, staring at one another, because it’s been a whole _week_. His hair is getting longer, curling at the edges just a little. There are snowflakes melting in his eyelashes.

“You should probably close the window,” he suggests, smiling a little.

El snaps out of her daze. “Right.”

When she turns around, he’s still awkwardly standing in the middle of her small bedroom. There’s barely any space to move around.

“Is Hopper—?”

“He’s asleep,” she says.

Tension she hadn’t even realised was there bleeds out of Mike’s shoulders. “Good,” he says. “So I know I’m like, totally not supposed to be here, but I just... It’s Christmas Eve, you know? I wanted to see you.”

She settles on the edge of her bed with him, taking his hand and barely realising it until their fingers are laced together. Mike swallows.

“I know,” she replies. “I wanted to see you too.”

Mike nods. His face is red again. All of the sudden he’s fumbling around in his pockets. She frowns as he pulls out a small velvet bag. “I got you something.”

“Oh,” she takes it, feeling awful. “I didn’t get you—”

“No, that’s okay!” He squeezes her free hand and then lets go. “Usually that’s like an agreed upon thing, so don’t feel bad. I just... Wanted to surprise you, I guess.”

She thinks about the Snowball, and their kiss, and how nice he always is to her, and thinks very suddenly, _You’re always surprising me._ She doesn’t really know where the thought comes from, but it seems louder and more open than any she’s ever had before.

Mike’s eyes widen. “Did you—?”

El bites her lip. She hadn’t meant to, but she doesn’t exactly regret it. “I think so.”

He blinks, and then furrows his brows together. _Can you hear this?_

 _Yes_.

They grin at one another. El is struck by how soft it feels; the thoughts flowing between them. It’s natural, and easy, like they’ve been doing it for years. She recalls a time when Hopper had led her through the woods; after months of isolation, he’d decided it was safe enough for a walk, at least. He’d taken her to a small pond, and they’d sat there while she took in the atmosphere of a forest in summer—feet soaking in the clear water while it lapped against the grainy ground, minnows dancing against her feet. It’s like that; like the small waves.

“Are you gonna open your gift?”

El starts a little. “Aren’t you supposed to wait until Christmas?”

“Well, technically,” he glances at his watch, “it is. Midnight, see?”

“Midnight,” she repeats, testing the word. It sounds... beautiful. Better than _one-two-zero-zero_. Better than _twelve_.

She pulls at the string tie on the little bag and turns it over. Something silver and lightweight falls into her palm. El fingers the clasp, holding it up for inspection; it’s circular, like the blue band Hopper gave her for the snowball (which she hasn’t taken off since)—but something about it is so much more delicate.

She can practically feel the nerves radiating off of Mike. “It’s a charm bracelet,” he says. “You can add stuff to it as much as you want. I put the first one on there for you, though.”

There’s a little silver ‘E’ dangling from the centre of the bracelet. It looks... “Pretty.”

“You like it?”

She turns to him, vision just a little blurry, and throws her arms around his neck. She’s certain she’s never loved him more than now. “I _love_ it. Thank you, Mike.”

His arms find their way around her waist. She feels so _warm_ , so happy. It takes everything in her to pull away, but she doesn’t go far. Their foreheads rest together. El closes her eyes and leans in. She’s never really kissed _him_ before, and it feels... good. Terrifying, but really good. Mike smiles against her lips.

“Can you put it on for me?” She asks.

Mike nods, lips still quirked up, and clasps the bracelet around her wrist. It stands out starkly against her skin. “Perfect,” she says.

Mike nods, but he isn’t looking at the bracelet. “Yeah. Perfect.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s a little on the shorter side, but I didn’t wanna drag it out. 
> 
> Next up: the (soon to be) annual Byers-Hopper Christmas dinner :D


	10. Halfway Happy Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with another CHRISTMASSY CHAPTER!!

X.

 

This time, they get there early.

It’s mostly El’s fault; she asks him, by her own estimate (estimate—E-S-T-I-M-A-T-E: a rough calculation), every five minutes if they’re leaving or not.

He wastes _so much_ time getting ready. First, his shower takes too long, and by then she’s clipping her last barrette into her hair. Then, he discovers his shirt is stained and scrounges the cabin for another. _Then_ , by the time she’s plopped defeatedly on the arm of the couch, shoes scuffing the floor, he’s standing in front of the mirror debating whether or not he should wear the tie.

“Does it look stupid?” He turns to her, arms spread so she can see it fully.

“Yes,” she replies.

Hopper scowls. He rips it off, throwing it aside, and grabs his jacket. “Alright, kid, let’s go.”

El practically flies out the door. She’s at the Blazer before him, waiting while he locks up and fumbles with his keys. “ _Hurry_ ,” she pleads.

“I’m _coming_ ,” he snaps. “Christ.”

She jiggles the still locked handle just to be defiant. Hopper stops, gives her an exasperated look, and folds his arms over his chest. “We’re not leaving until you relax.”

She wants to scream. It’s been a week and a half since she’s seen Will or Joyce, and she’s _dying_ for a meal that isn’t microwaveable. Stubbornly, though, she locks her jaw. “ _You_ relax.”

“Excuse me?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m relaxed. I’m practically mellow.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your shirt is missing a button.”

“What?! Where—?”

“I’m kidding. _Relax_.”

Hop stares at her for a moment. It seems like something is occurring to him. Then his lips downturn and he points a finger at her. “No lying.”

“I wasn’t,” she insists. “I said ‘ _kidding_ ’.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think you understand the—“

“Dad!” She stomps her foot into the tightly-packed snow, jiggling the handle again.

He can’t stop his grin. “Alright. Okay.” He unlocks the car and she scurries in, bouncing up and down while he starts the car. “We’re _going_ , you impudent squirrel—”

“Impudent?”

They pull away from the cabin. “I-M-P-U—”

“D-E-N-T,” she finishes. “What does it mean?”

Hopper glances at her, looking sort of pleased. “It means disrespectful. Rude.”

El scowls, leaning back defensively. “I am _not_ impudent.”

“You so are.”

“Well you like Joyce!”

They come to a stop sign. Hopper slams down on the breaks. “What on earth are you—of course I—as a friend—”

“As _more than friends_ ,” she says certainly. She recalls what Max had said to her at the Snowball, when Mike had left to get her more punch. “You’ve got it bad.”

At once, he’s laughing. They keep driving, and she doesn’t get what’s funny about what she said, but he won’t stop chucking until they pull up to the Byers house.

El is struck by how it looks; there are lights wrapped around the porch railing, all different colours and beautiful. It looks warm and inviting. “Wow.”

Hopper reaches over and makes to ruffle her hair, but she catches him before he can and bats his hand away. It had taken a whole hour to straighten and style. She’d done her best to replicate whatever Nancy had done to it before the dance—it’s not as good; already starting to curl at the ends—but she doesn’t want him making it any worse.

They slip out of the car, and just as El shuts her door, the one to the house is thrown open. Will rushes to her. “El! You made it!”

He throws his arms around her. El reciprocates, taking in his familiar form and smell; laundry detergent and vanilla candles, which Joyce has about seven of around the house—but there’s something else about him, too. Almost like the smell of a Christmas tree, but older and more homely.

“Hi, Will.”

He pulls away, and she notices the bags under his eyes and how pale he is and how much smaller he seems compared to last month—but she doesn’t say anything, because he’s smiling so much it almost doesn’t matter. It’s all better now. That’s how he feels, and somehow she gauges that. He feels _safe_ and _protected_ now that she’s here.

Very suddenly, she’s certain about all of it. She’s certain she never _ever_ wants this comfort to go away for him. She doesn’t want to leave, ever. She just wants to stay with her brother, to live in this house that has always been, in some way, home.

But then Will is pulling her along, past Hopper and Joyce. “Come on, I have to show you my new art set—”

Going from outside to inside in such a hurry is like being slapped in the face with heat and Christmas. She barely gets to take in the tree, and the presents beneath it, and the _decorations_ —

Will closes his door behind them. He crouches down and retrieves what looks like a suitcase from the end of his bed, which he unceremoniously plops down on his mattress.

“It has so much,” he tells her, seemingly still marvelling. “Pastels and oils, crayons in like, every single colour—and pencils, and graphite, and charcoal—and there are all sorts of different tip sizes—”

He keeps rambling on, and she tries to listen, but it’s all a little too quick and unfamiliar for her. She plucks a pink crayon out of its place and smiles, beside it’s the exact same shade as her first dress.

Will suddenly stops. “Am I going too fast?”

El meets his eyes. They’re earnest, not pitying. He _gets_ it. “Yes.”

“Sorry, um,” he pats the space across from him. “Why don’t you sit down, and I can explain?”

El does, and he goes on, a little slower; he tells her the names of every shade, and how to mix paints, and what colours are made. She can’t help but smiling at the way his face lights up when he makes dark blue.

* * *

“Art set?”

Joyce is standing on a step ladder, reaching up to tack tinsel to the wall. “Yeah,” she grins down at him. “Jonathan’s been saving up for it since October.”

Hopper hums, pulling his cigarette from his lips and sighing smoke. “I see you put up lights.”

She nods, stepping down. “Thought it was time to move on,” she explains. “It’s been a year, after all.”

He doesn’t know what to say, or where to go from there.

Joyce speaks first. “How are things going?”

How are they? Kid’s learning more, and so is he (in a different way). They’re making it work. “It’s okay,” he admits. “She’s just a little... bold.”

Joyce raises an eyebrow, gathering the unneeded second garland in her hands. “Yeah? How so?”

“She just says what’s on her mind,” he explains, following her through the house. “She’s got no filter.”

Joyce drops the decorations into a box and takes him to the kitchen. “Sounds about right.”

“She reminds me of you,” he doesn’t know what he’s doing, “back in high school.”

“What, a loud mouthed smoker?”

As if to prove her point, she fingers a cigarette from a pack on the counter and lights up.

Hopper grins, leaning against a cabinet. “Yeah, sorta.”

Joyce laughs, and it makes his heart skip a beat. It’s all so stupid and familiar; he feels like he’s sixteen again, sitting on the bleachers with her, staring at her while she reads _Homer_ and pretending he understands when she stops to explain the deeper meaning of something.

Some things never change. The pining certainly hasn’t.

She stirs the potatoes. “So what’d you get her?”

He starts back into reality. “Hmm?”

“El. What’d you get her for Christmas?”

 _Oh_. “A bike.” It’s the same model as the Wheeler kid’s. “BMX.”

Joyce nods, and all of the sudden he can’t deny it anymore. He really does love her. He loves the way she fills the gaps in their conversation by singing along to the radio, and the way she smiles to herself when she hears a line she likes.

He’s fucking hopeless.

* * *

Dinner is like Thanksgiving, except they have ham instead of turkey. El likes it better, because it’s somehow sweeter.

Jonathan keeps filling her and Will’s plates with more food. They eat as much as they can, and somewhere along the line it turns into a competition; who can finish faster.

El wins.

Soon enough, they’re gathered around the Christmas tree. She’s seen families do this on TV—they pass out gifts and open them, every year. _Tradition_.

She and Hopper hadn’t brought anything, mostly because they didn’t have much money to spare. She wishes they could have, but Will and Joyce tell her over and over that it really doesn’t matter.

A red-wrapped box is thrust into her hands before she can really even sit down. El settles, crossing her legs. Will is watching her eagerly.

“It’s from all of us,” he tells her. “Me, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas.”

She gently rips the paper off and pulls the box from the ruins. “Realistic TRC-214,” she reads, and then meets Will’s eyes. “Supercom?”

“Yeah!” He scoots closer and helps her take it out of the box. “You know how to use it, right?”

She recalls that first week, which seems like forever ago, when she’d found Will with it. He’d been singing his favourite song. “Yes. I do.” She smiles. “Thank you, Will.”

He shrugs, but he’s grinning anyway. “It’s no biggie. Now you can talk to us all the time, as long as you’re in range—”

“Not a problem,” she says, already fiddling with the dial. Her ears start to ring just a little, and she can feel the beginnings of a small headache forming, but it’s all worth it when Dustin’s voice streams through the speaker.

“I’m telling you Lucas, it’ll be any minute—”

“Hi, Dustin.”

“YES! El! You got it! Whaddya think?!”

“It’s good,” she grins. “Thank you.”

“Oh, man, no problem,” he sounds like he’s grinning. She wishes he were here. “This is so cool.”

“Merry Christmas, El,” pipes in Lucas.

She grins. “Merry Christmas.”

“Now, remember to say ‘over’ when you’re done,” Will reminds her. “That way everyone knows it’s clear to start talking.”

“Oh, please, no one follows that rule but Mike,” Dustin’s voice interrupts, and El realised that her finger has only just slipped off of ‘talk’.

“Yeah, it’s complete bullshit,” agrees Lucas. “Don’t worry, El.”

Will rolls his eyes. Hop and Joyce chose that moment to walk into the living room, all finished packing away the food.

“Hey, mistletoe!”

It’s only then that El notices the little plant hanging by a string above the two. Will glances her way, and some understanding passes between them.

 _Family_.

The glare Hopper throws Will isn’t nearly enough to intimidate anyone (El can see that his irritation is only a mask for his gratitude and surprise). Before he can say anything, though, Joyce is leaning up and kissing his cheek.

The look on Hoppers face might be the best Christmas gift yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, you guys! I hope you enjoyed this update, consider it my gift to all of you (does that sound egotistical? Hope not). I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, especially the parts with everyone’s favourite dad/daughter duo. Who else is living for El and Will as siblings, though?! I love the idea that they both look up to each other, and feel safe when the other is around, and just understand one another so well.
> 
> ALSO instead of just focusing on either El or Hopper’s POV, I decided to do both (because I NEEDED Jopper). What do you guys think? 
> 
> Anyway, have a happy holiday, and if you enjoyed please leave feedback! Love you all! xoxo


	11. Rockin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder: some of these chapters aren’t in order—for example, the one with Hopper coming home after spending the night at Joyce’s would be set after this one. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

XI. 

  
“What is ‘Rockin’?”

There’s a small break of static, in which she waits, huddled atop her bed with a quilt wrapped around her shoulders. It’s snowing outside, and even with the heaters and fire she can feel the chill of winter through the wooden walls.

“It’s like, awesome or cool,” comes Mike’s reply, a little muffled. “You could say something rocks, or that it’s _rockin’_ —” he pauses. “Did you see the ad for the Dick Clark special?”

“Yes,” she pulls her blanket tighter around herself and flicks the channel on the TV. It’s just her until eleven; Hopper is working double and no one else can be out this late. “What is it?”

“It’s _so_ cheesy,” is his immediate reply. “Basically a bunch of famous artists and bands preform while everyone waits for the ball to drop—then they release a bunch of confetti—and there’s a countdown—Nancy was dying to watch it last year because they had Culture Club and Cyndi Lauper.”

El hums. “ _Time After Time._ ”

“Yeah,” Mike says, and she can practically hear the smile in his voice. It dampens quickly though. “We can’t watch it tonight because my dad has work in the morning.”

“Why don’t you come here?”

It’s been over two weeks since she’s seen him, last. She knows it’s dark, and Hopper won’t be exactly pleased, but she also knows Steve has a car. And she doesn’t really care if Hopper is mad. It’s been too long. No more ‘soon’.

“Now? Tonight?”

“No, next week,” she rolls her eyes, the same way she’s seen Hopper do so many times, and imitates his tone. “Yes, tonight.”

Mike is silent for a small moment, and in that time she worries she’s offended him, but then he comms in. “Yeah, totally, okay—”

“Mike,” she stops him as an idea occurs to her, “bring Max. And Razzles.”

He’s grinning and she knows it. She is too; excitement bubbles in her stomach, both familiar and foreign.

“Totally,” he says, and after that he’s gone.

El watches the TV while she waits. It was good to invite Max, she decides. For one, she barely knows her, and that needs to change. And they’d been talking last night about New Year’s plans—Max had said she didn’t have any. Her parents would be out of town and Billy was going to some stupid party, leaving her on her own.

Just like El.

* * *

They arrive a little after ten-thirty, flushed from the cold and bundled up in scarves and hats and coats. Steve is behind them, looking begrudging.

“Okay,” he says, slipping in without even giving them a chance to greet one another. “I have popcorn, Wonka, Spree, Airheads, Pop Rocks, and—as requested—Razzles.”

The candy is dumped out over the kitchen table. El snatches up her Razzles before anyone else can take them. “Thanks.”

“Hey, El,” Max greets, peeling off her coat. “Thanks, um... for inviting me.”

“We sort of kidnapped her, but it’s cool,” Mike shuts the door and grins at her. “Hi.”

El can’t help but grin back. “Hi.”

“Ugh, you guys are gross.”

“I literally just said ‘ _Hello_ ’—”

“But you got all moony eyed,” Max retorts. Her attention is quickly focused elsewhere, though. “Are those Laffy Taffies?!”

Steve nods and tosses her one. “I didn’t know who liked what, so I just grabbed what I had from my pantry. Those have been in there for months, though, Red. They’re fucking _disgusting_.”

“They’re amazing,” she snaps. “And don’t call me ‘Red.’”

“Where’s the TV?”

El glances at Mike, who’s surveying the cabin with great interest. She realizes this is the first time he’s seen more than her bedroom; he takes in the fireplace and the still-standing Christmas tree with wide, interested eyes.

“My room,” she says, taking his hand. “We can sit in there.”

The bed is a little small, but she, Mike, and Max manage to fit easy enough. Steve pulls up a chair and lounges next to them, resting his feet on her mattress.

They watch TV for a little bit, bickering over who gets how much candy—well, Mike and Max do most of that, while El watches them.

Their relationship is... interesting. It’s not even close to what she was afraid it would be. She thinks of how she’s seen Mike act around Nancy, or Dustin and Lucas with one another—it’s like siblings, fighting with no real anger and always ending everything in some sort of a compromise. They’re _halfway happy_ friends.

After a while, four people in one room becomes a bit of a hotbox. Max slips off the bed. “I’m gonna make popcorn.”

“I’ll help,” El offers, barely thinking. It doesn’t occur to her just then that she doesn’t even really know how, or that she hardly knows Max—it’s just so _warm_.

Max shrugs. “Okay.”

* * *

El grabs a bag of chips from the cupboard while Max sets up the popcorn. “Lucas and I had a fight,” she blurts after a minute, staring at the tinfoil pan with a fervency.

“Um,” El swallows, glancing at the door to her room. She can hear Mike and Steve laughing. “I—”

“I’m doing the thing,” Max continues, now watching her. “Y’know, the girl thing, where we like... _talk_.”

“Oh.” El sets the chip bag down. She’s being handed an opportunity to get closer to Max. Eager as she is, El takes it. “Fought about what?”

“Well,” Max gives the pan a shake, “I guess I was jealous—I mean, he has this nice big house and this amazing family, and he never has to worry about money or his parents fighting or any of that shit. But there he was, lying on his couch, which probably cost like a _grand_ or more, complaining about how he didn’t get to go to the arcade this weekend because his family is visiting.”

At this, Max gives El a look. El swallows, averting her gaze back to the chip bowl.

Max huffs. “It’s just that... I haven’t seen my dad in like, months. And it sucks. He was pretty much the one good thing I had in my life to begin with, and he’s not even _that_ great. And Lucas has all this stuff, and all these people, and so I just... yelled. A lot. _Loudly_.”

El isn’t sure what to do, for a second. But then, almost automatically, she reaches out and takes Max’s hand. “You have _us_. Party, remember?”

Max gives a small smile. “Yeah, I guess.”

There’s a loud _pop_. They both jump, and then laugh when they realize it’s only the pan.

Maybe the fear will never go away, but it doesn’t always end in tragedy.

* * *

It’s half an hour to midnight when El hears the knock.

She’s nearly asleep on Mike’s shoulder, staring down dazedly at their intertwined fingers. His are longer and paler than her own, and her fingernails are covered in a peeling coat of nail polish from the dance.

She thinks they look right together. With this thought comes the overwhelming, stomach-warming desire to burrow against him just a little more. She does so, snaking her free arm around his waist, breathing in the smell of laundry detergent and chocolate chip cookies.

Then it comes—loud and stark against the dim volume of the television. It makes them all jump. Steve jolts out of his nap and glances around. “Whassat?!”

“Hop,” El replies. She leans forward so she can see into the living room and twitches her fingers. The locks slide undone. He steps inside, kicking snow from his boots against the frame.

“Hey, Kid, I’m home! Brought stuff!”

He’s too busy taking his coat off to see them. El clears her throat loudly, and his head snaps up. All at once, he goes from welcoming to exasperated. “Oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, my mom thinks I’m staying over at Dustin’s.”

“So does mine,” says Steve.

“Oh, _shut up._ ”

Steve grins, easily dodging the kick Mike aims at him, and proceeds to actually clock Mike in the arm. It’s light, but Mike still hisses.

Hopper drops his paper bag on the table. He folds his arms over his chest and squints at them. “What about you, Red?”

Max fumes. “You know, I don’t go around calling dudes with facial hair ‘ _Beard_ ’,” she snaps hotly. “And they’re not home.”

Hopper shakes his head. “El, can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”

El purses her lips, gently unwinding her fingers from Mike’s and slipping off the bed. She lets Hopper lead her into the kitchen where they’re out of sight.

“So what is this? You wanna explain?”

“It’s New Years,” she replies.

“Yeah,” he says, like this point is obvious.

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

“But I’m here now,” he blinks down at her, and then pinches the space between his brows. “Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”

El frowns. “I _wouldn’t_.”

“No, I don’t mean—” Hop sucks in a deep breath ( _Dad_ ) and then refocuses on her. “I didn’t mean that literally.”

“How do you—?”

“Never mind that, it’s not relevant. Listen, kid,” he puts a hand on her shoulder, “I get it, okay? And I did promise it’d be different— _but_ —you’ve still gotta ask, okay? _Especially_ after dark.”

El sighs. She knows he’s right, but there’s never any guarantee he’ll reply to her coded messages. Sometimes he’s not listening in, sometimes he’s not in his car—there was one time she reminded him there was no food at all in the house and he came back empty-handed.

She doesn’t say any of this, though, because she doesn’t want an argument. Instead she nods. “Sorry.”

Hopper takes that. “I’m not... well, I’m a little mad. But not _a lot_. Just remember to check.”

El nods. “Rockin’.”

* * *

Midnight passes with them huddled around the now re-located television, eyes drooping. Max is already asleep, her head resting against the back of the couch.

Mike squeezes her hand as the ball drops, smiling at her through the dim light. “Happy New Year, El.”

She’s too tired to say anything back, so instead she presses her lips to his cheek and then settles with her head on his shoulder. It will be happy, even if it’s only halfway sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, you guys!!! I hope this upcoming year is... well, rockin’. 
> 
> I was seriously contemplating having this be the last chapter, especially because of that ending line—but I’m not gonna officially end the fic. If I think of new ideas, I’ll write and post them, absolutely. However, they might be posted separately, just under the “halfway happy” verse. 
> 
> If you guys have any ideas or prompts that you really want done, just comment! 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	12. Given

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, it’s flu season, and this idea was dropped into my lap. I hope you guys enjoy it (and if you want a part two, let me know). 
> 
> Also just FYI, Mike and El are like 14 here, in case you guys were wondering; it’s set approximately 4 months after the last chapter.

XII.

 

She wakes to the sound of coughing.

It’s more like hacking, really; so deep and throaty it seems painful. It’s followed by the grumbling, exasperated sounds of Hopper clearing his throat.

El wipes her eyes, groggily rising from the warm utopia of her bed. The sun is filtering through the newly-mounted curtains, giving everything a hazy golden glow.

 _Spring_.

Of all of the seasons, El without a doubt favours spring the most. No more numb hands, cold cheeks, or dry skin. It’s the most stable and balanced of the seasons in her opinion. And it’s so _bright_.

There’s another cough, this one almost worse somehow. El frowns with concern. She stumbles over to the door and pokes her head out.

“Are you okay?”

Hopper doesn’t look okay. If she weren’t around him constantly, she doesn’t think she’d be able to tell, underneath the beard and the glower. But he’s paler than normal, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced and purple.

“Yeah, kid,” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, setting plates of food on the table. “Breakfast is ready.”

El wrinkles her nose. “I don’t want anything you’ve touched,” she says. “Germs.”

Hopper gives her a look. “I’m _not_ sick,” he states firmly.

El returns it. “Coughing, sweaty, con... _con-ges-tion._ You are.”

“It’ll go away,” he insists, sitting down. “It always does. Now would you just get out here and eat, already?”

She warily slips out of her room, eyes on him as he starts to cut up his sausage. She’s just settling across from him when his fork clatters onto his plate and he sits back, looking a little green.

“Hop—”

“Be right back.”

He shoots out of his chair so fast it’s actually knocked over. El winces as the bathroom door slams shut. The sound of retching shortly follows.

“ _Dad!_ ”

El rushes over to the door, hovering there. He’s throwing up, which can’t be good at all. When she’d done that, Hopper had called it the flu—F-L-U, which was a weirdly funny spelling to her, but it wasn’t _fun_ to have.

“Hop?”

She knocks gently after a moment of silence, but then winces when he retches again. “Gross.”

“Just give me a minute,” he pants. “I just need...”

There are more disgusting sounds. El shakes her head and moves away from the door. Food doesn’t seem appetising at all after that. She decides to scrape both of their plates, even if it is a huge waste. It won’t matter, much, though; she suspects Hop’ll be eating next to nothing for at least a few days.

She’s just finished washing the plates when the bathroom door opens. Hop looks weak. He leans against the frame, trying to catch his breath. “Can you get me... my shoes?”

“ _Shoes?!_ ”

“Yeah, y’know, there’s two of ‘em, they go on your feet—”

“I know what they are, _smartass_ ,” she snaps, in a perfect imitation of him—only it’s usually Mike he’s scolding. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

Hopper shakes his head. “You don’t understand; I have _work_. I have to make enough money so that we can eat.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Dustin always has a lot of food, he can bring stuff.”

It’s true, really; even if they go short a few days, Dustin is usually looking for someone to take his mom’s extra cookies off his hands, or leftovers, or whatever else they have a ‘surplus’ of.

“I have to go,” Hop takes a deep breath, stumbles forward, and nearly falls.

He’s suspended midair for a few seconds before she gently lowers him down. He looks a little ridiculous in a heap on the ground, but he quickly rolls onto his back. She comes over and gently nudges his side with her foot. “Bed.”

Hopper struggles to focus on her. “Kid,” is all he says.

Then he’s asleep.

El rolls her eyes before extending her hand and concentrating, hard. It’s difficult to do when she realises just how worried she is. He’s shaking.

It takes a little more effort than she’d like, but eventually he’s in his bed. El wipes the thin stream of blood from her nose and watches him for a moment.

This _isn’t_ getting better.

* * *

 

 “Mike?”

Static. El waits a beat before comming in again. This time, he picks up.

“El! Hey, what’s up?”

El can’t help but grin at how eager he sounds—it’s funny, because he tries to be casual. He tries really, _really_ hard.

 _Cute_.

“Can you come over? With Joyce?”

“Uh, probably,” Mike pauses. “Are you okay?”

“Hop is sick,” El explains, tugging on a loose thread from her sweater. It’s one of his, she realises; he’d left it behind the last time he’d visited the cabin.

It’s too big for her, but it’s soft. It smells like him.

“Oh,” is Mike’s reply. “Okay, well, I’ll call Joyce, and we’ll be there as soon as we can. Promise.”

El smiles faintly. “Promise,” she echoes.

There’s nothing more after that. El rises from her dusty bedroom floor and brushes her jeans off, even if they aren’t really dirty. Hop groans from his bedroom.

El isn’t quite sure what to do. He doesn’t want to eat, clearly. He needs rest. Anxiously, she paces the cabin, worrying her hands and _waiting_.

It’s almost an hour before she hears anything, and when she does, it makes her jump almost a foot in the air.

Tires against the mulch ground, muffled voices...

_Mike, Mike, Mike..._

More than anything, El just wants to throw open the door and run at him, but she waits for the knock anyway. It comes promptly, and she undoes the lock before he’s even finished.

Mike is standing on her porch, tall and lanky, hair curling at the ends with the sun shining through it. He’s holding a brown paper bag with both arms, but it doesn’t stop him from grinning. “Hi.”

El swallows. “Hi.”

“You two are so cute,” Joyce gushes from the sidelines, looking between the two of them.

Mike’s face turns red. “Um,” he clears his throat. “I...”

“I’m just kidding,” Joyce rolls her eyes. “Can we come in, sweetie?”

“Yes!” El steps aside. “Sorry.”

“It’s no worry,” Joyce is inside in an instant and dropping her bags onto the small kitchen table. She’s a flurry of movement, always; a wisp of a person—but she can be so serene and calm, sometimes. It’s like a switch being flipped. “So, I got chicken noodle soup—that’s to help settle his stomach, y’know, and the heat will help with his congestion—I’ll teach you how to make it. It’s very easy. And I have some food for you, and some medicine—hon, what’re you doing?”

El retracts her hand from the Swear Jar, frowning. “Paying you back?”

“Oh,” Joyce blinks once. “No, that’s not... You don’t need to do that. I’m here to help.”

El smiles when Joyce does; it’s something automatic within her that she just can’t help. She thinks Joyce reminds her more of the summer—of golden sunsets and those bugs that light up when it’s dark... _fireflies_. She’s warm.

“I brought movies,” Mike pipes up, setting his bag down beside Joyce’s. “E.T., Pretty In Pink, Blade Runner...”

“‘Blade Runner’?”

“Yeah! It’s so good! Basically it’s about this guy named Deckard—he’s an ex-cop, and he’s played by Han Solo, from Star Wars? So there are these androids who look like real people, called Replicants, and it’s the job of a blade runner to kill the androids—”

“Why don’t you just let her watch the movie?” Joyce suggests with a small smirk, unloading the bags. She retrieves what El knows to be a thermometer. “I’ll be right back.”

El settles down at the table, taking the VHS and studying the cover. “What’s an android?”

Mike sits across from her. “They’re machines,” he explains. “Like, robots. They don’t really have superpowers, like the X-Men, or you, but they know a lot.”

El nods. “Like you.”

She knows he’ll be blushing when she looks up, and El truly can’t resist grinning. She reaches over and pokes his cheek. “Pink.”

Mike only blushes more. “Um...”

“One-hundred and one,” Joyce announces, looking far from pleased. “He’s burning up.”

“Ice is in the freezer,” El says.

Joyce is already reaching for a washcloth, nodding absently. She plucks the ice cubes from their tray, closes off the cloth with a hair tie, and hurries back to Hop’s darkened bedroom.

“She’s a really good mom,” Mike says lowly, eyes on the doorway, still. “My mom... I mean, she cares, but it’s hard. We can’t talk, and she doesn’t understand. Sometimes...” he trails off, looking frustrated and embarrassed.

“You wish you could tell her?” El guesses.

Mike nods. He traces words and patterns against the tabletop. El reaches out and grabs his hands, and on instinct rests her forehead against them, revelling in the cold skin. Mike is still for a moment, and then she feels the weight of his own cheek pressing against her skull.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” he says, voice slightly muffled.

“It’s because of me,” she protests. “Because she doesn’t...”

Mike sits up. He lightly nudges her chin with his hands, signalling her to meet his eyes. “It’s not your fault,” he says, firmly. “Seriously. It’s those people, okay? No one blames _you_.”

El can’t help the seeds of doubt in the back of her mind. She’d opened the gate, all on her own. She’d gone with Mike, brought the bad men (the _government_ ) into his home.

But she nods anyway, because she doesn’t want to worry him, and maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

* * *

 

Hours pass. Hopper slips in and out of consciousness, muttering under his breath. Mike shows El all of the movies, but she can’t keep an interest; she’s too focused on the sick, burly man in bed.

It’s after dark when Joyce calls El into the room for help.

Hopper is sweating and shaking, face so pale it almost matches the sheets. Joyce doesn’t look too worried, but her brows are furrowed as she stares down at him. “I need to get these sheets off the bed,” she says. “They’re soaked.”

El is too frightened to be disgusted. She realises just then how much she loves him, her _dad_. Her stupid, sometimes mean, protective, permanently glowering father.

“O-Okay.”

She sets to work as Joyce does, levitating Hop about a foot or so off of the bed; Joyce reaches under and grasps the sheets. She yanks them off the mattress. “‘Kay, you can set him down, now.”

El does. She swiftly wipes the blood from her nose. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”

Joyce meets her eyes. “Of course,” she reassures, and it’s hard not to believe her. “You think a cold could take down this guy? _Please_.”

El starts to speak when a stuffy, croaky voice fills her ears. “Sara...”

They both freeze. Joyce hugs the bundled sheets to her chest with wide eyes. El takes a step closer.

“Sara...”

“Dad?”

She reaches out and grabs his hand. It’s limp at first, but eventually he squeezes her own. His eyes find her face. She can tell, somehow, that he’s not really seeing _her_.

“I miss you,” he shudders. “Every... every day, kiddo.”

El glares stubbornly at the ceiling. She doesn’t want to cry. Not right now. “I miss you too,” she eventually manages, voice wavering just a little.

Hopper’s whole body relaxes. His hand falls onto the bed.

Joyce wraps an arm around El’s shoulders. “You good?”

“Yeah.” She jerks her chin up, sniffing, staring. “Good.”

The older woman gives her a small squeeze, staying for just a moment longer, before she goes to wash the sheets.

It’s only when El turns that she realises Mike has been watching the whole time, and she can’t really fight the urge to go to him; let herself practically fall into him. Mike’s arms wrap around her waist. He holds her, tight.

His jacket is soft, and he smells like home; like Karen Wheeler’s baked goods and the dusty, boy-filled basement. It’ll always be home to her. It was the first house she’d ever been in that didn’t smell like _nothing_.

“I love you.”

It slips out, just like that. Mike doesn’t even pull back. If anything he holds her tighter. “I love you, too.”

She wipes her eyes and draws away, trying to steady her breathing. “Thank you.”

Mike’s eyebrows furrow. “For what?”

“Being here,” she elaborates. “Helping.”

“Oh. Well, I mean, I always will be. With anything.”

She doesn’t need him to promise, this time. It’s a given.


End file.
